Through His Eyes
by La Femme Noire
Summary: The first installment in a series documenting the events of the Gemma Doyle trilogy, through the eyes of one Kartik, formerly of the Rakshana. A bit of fluff, mostly exposition. Just something to satisfy my writing itch.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 

An Introduction: I recently had the supreme pleasure of meeting Libba Bray on her book tour through the United States. I asked her to describe how Kartik and Gemma evolved, both as individuals and together throughout the trilogy, and she gave me an answer that warmed my heart. "At first, they fight and banter and are both so pigheaded you want to slap them. But eventually, they come to shape each other with the push and pull of their differences, and they find that they are drawn to one another." This gave me the idea of their story told through Kartik's eyes, and here is the result.

DISCLAIMER: All characters and place names are Libba Bray's. No money is being made from the publication of this story.

Here lies the faithful account of Kartik, brother to Amar, former brother of the Rakshana, of the events of the past year that have made me into the most pitiable fool in love who has ever walked this earth.

I remember when I first saw her. We were in India then, the land of my birth, the land I have always considered home. It was easier to forget for a time, when I hid myself in the folds of the Rakshana. I wanted to forget my family, that I had ever had a mother or a father or a childhood. But I think India has ever been in my heart.

And she, how long has she been there? I can scarcely remember. Now I find myself ensnared, in the middle before I even knew I'd begun.

But I remember that first meeting. I had been following Amar everywhere, just as he had been following Virginia Doyle…Mary Dowd. It was a hot, sticky day, but Amar and I still wore the heavy black cloaks of the Rakshana. We were in a dense crowd, Amar calling behind him to urge me forward every few minutes, telling me to make haste so that we might warn the priestess of Circe's presence. It seemed we pushed past thousands of people before suddenly stumbling upon a tall, elegant lady dressed in the English style, high lace collar and all. I remember thinking that she looked kind, much kinder than I would expect from one of the Order. I also remember her flaming red hair that caught the sun as she moved. My brother bumped into her purposefully and bowed in apology, muttering something that I did not quite catch. I might've seen her expression, but she had moved a little sideways then and I glimpsed her daughter.

Tall as her mother, but with a slimmer waist and broader shoulders, her equally golden-red hair pulled back from her flushed face, she caught the attention of every man in the crowd even as they rushed past, going about their daily business. I saw several of them turn their heads to look at her before hurrying onwards. And that was even without seeing her eyes, as I did at that moment. I remember thinking that they were the most startling green eyes I had ever seen, and my heart stilled for a moment. There was such strength and power in those eyes. She looked back at me, as if she could see into my soul, before looking away and rushing after her mother as Amar and I retreated into the crowd.

That same day, that black day, she and I both suffered the greatest blow that can befall any human being: the loss of a loved one. The pain of my brother's loss was almost too much to bear. When I was told by the higher powers of the Rakshana that I was to follow the priestess's daughter to England, I was almost relieved. Finally, I had a purpose. After stumbling blindly through my pain for days, weeks, I had a mission to accomplish and by all the gods, I was going to accomplish it.

The passage was not easy, and once in England, I had to find a way to blend in with the London crowds. I stowed away on a public carriage that took me as far as the nearest town to Spence Academy, Matlock. It was Fortune that led me to the band of gypsies who camped in the woods on the school grounds. They accepted me readily, taking me as one of their own, and there I awaited the arrival of the girl whose destiny was so inextricably tied to my own.

Almost from the beginning, I found myself drawn to her obvious strength of will and formidable mind. Our meeting in the chapel in the middle of the night was unfortunate, to say the least, both of us as vicious and wild as trapped animals. I was trying to intimidate her, thinking that if she feared me, it would be much easier to control her as the Rakshana wished. But I found that the strength I had perceived in those eyes of hers rose to the occasion. She would not be tamed, and part of me did not want to see her so. We left things at a standstill, and though I was angry, I was also intrigued. I found myself desperately wanting her to respect me as I was starting to respect her. But always there was my duty to the Rakshana hanging over my head, and I could not let that go so easily.

Those next few months, I watched her constantly, haunted her every step, inserted myself into her life even as I knew she did not want me there. I told myself that it was my duty to the Rakshana that so bound me to her, but I was deceived. I could not have left her even if I tried. My growing respect for her must have turned into admiration at some point, but I cannot say exactly when. Perhaps it was at her friend Ms. Cross's funeral, when I finally saw how the crushing weight of all that was placed on her shoulders took its toll. She came to me then, somehow knowing that I was there even if I had taken great care to hide myself. I did not want to bother her in her grief. But she knew, and that was when I first truly saw her for the person she was. She was not so very different from me, this strong girl with the frightening powers and strange eyes. They were tinged with sadness, and I had to stop myself from taking her into my arms to comfort her. I could only draw a thumb over her lower lip, wanting much more but knowing that it was impossible then. My heart ached for her. She had experienced loss as I had. And she struggled with her duty as I had found myself doing more and more since coming to know her. All my life, I had been devoted to the Rakshana, questioning nothing, always doing as they bid me. But suddenly there was this new power over me that I could not name. I only knew that Gemma Doyle was a part of it, and I would explore it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

DISCLAIMER: All characters and place names are Libba Bray's. No money is being made from the publication of this story.

Fall came, bringing the icy winds that heralded winter. Life at the camp became much more difficult, but my gypsy friends and I built roaring fires to combat the chill. I regretted having to leave them and Gemma—I addressed her as Miss Doyle, but she had long since been Gemma to me—for a time, but the Rakshana expected me to make a full report of what I had learned. Winter came to Spence two months later, and I with it. It was with a heavy heart that I returned to her, knowing what I had been asked to do. Already I knew I could not. Perhaps as early as then, I knew I had to defy the brotherhood that had raised me since I was a child. I was loyal to them, but the new power was growing. Gemma did not yet know what hold she had over me. I was only too aware of how deep my attraction to her had become.

My first truly happy memory of her involved snow. It had been coming down for three days, and one morning I peered outside my tent to see that it had finally stopped. The whole world was a beautiful, pristine wonderland. For the first time since the death of my brother, my heart felt lighter, almost peaceful. I had returned to Spence at the peak of the storm and resolved to wait it out before making my presence known. Here was my chance, I knew, and my heart thrummed with the prospect of seeing her again. Her eyes, her red-gold curls, her voice had haunted my dreams. It was time for the reality.

I made my way through the snow that was several feet deep, but which I had learned to cope with fairly quickly. Hiding behind a tree, I could hear the schoolgirls' laughter in the distance. They were outside the school, reveling in the new snow. Anxious to see if she was among them, I cautiously crept from my hiding place and watched as she, Miss Worthington and Miss Bradshaw came down the front steps of the school, bundled in their winter coats. Her face was already turning red against the cold. This made me smile, and I could scarcely wait to speak to her. But I knew an opportunity had to present itself, when her friends were safely at a distance. So I waited, and I watched.

The look on her face when she first held snow is one I will never forget. "Ah, it sticks!" I heard her exclaim to her friends, delighted. She and I were used to the hot, sweltering weather of India, and her smiles as she marveled at this new thing were beautiful to behold. The three of them started throwing snowballs then, and I could scarcely keep from laughing as I saw her squealing and giggling like a child as more than one snowball found its way to her head. Miss Worthington left them, but Gemma continued throwing snowballs at Miss Bradshaw until suddenly she was running swiftly toward my hiding place, laughing and panting as she taunted her friend into retaliation. She was but three feet away from where I stood when I saw her boot catch in the muddy snow and she started to fall forward. Here was my opportunity, and I took it. I caught her arm just in time, and she started up with a gasp as she saw who had saved her.

Her hair was soaked, her nose runny, and her cheeks had turned completely red, but to me she had never looked more beautiful. I could not keep an amused smirk from my face as I greeted her with, "Miss Doyle. You look…well." How good it felt to tease her again! Our conversation was brief and to the point, but as I ran swiftly away back to the gypsy camp, my heart felt lighter than ever. I had seen her. I had been close enough to touch her, to smell the scent of her skin when I was forced to press against her, hiding us from Miss Bradshaw. I still felt the warmth of her breath and the beating of her heart in every part of my body. Until the next time we spoke, it would be enough.

That time came quickly. I had intended to speak to her in the privacy of her room, knowing that Miss Bradshaw and Miss Worthington were already away for the holidays. I climbed the ivy and slipped through her bedroom window to find the room dark and uninhabited. So I had to wait, I told myself. So be it. I resisted the urge to look through her things, to see if I could catch the scent of her that I was already beginning to miss. I hid myself behind her dressing screen, intending to make my presence known as soon as she stepped into the room. But as I waited and the sun finally set, the full moon rising in its place, I found myself drifting off into a light sleep.

I do not know how long I slept, but when I awoke, it was completely dark outside and the room was bathed in a soft light. I heard her voice, low and threatening, and I peered around the screen to see her sitting at her vanity table, her hair loose, wearing nothing but her underclothes. The straps of her chemise were pushed down to reveal the creamy skin of her shoulders. Her hair shone a dark copper in this new light. I had never before seen it cascade down her back as it did then. The shock I felt as I watched her quickly gave way to awe, then overwhelming desire, as she spoke to her reflection. "Speak!" she growled menacingly.

This exclamation was enough to rouse me to my feet. Stepping from behind the screen, I cleared my throat and said softly, "It is I, Kartik."

What ensued was utter embarrassment on both our parts and a hasty retreat to her closet to fetch her robe on hers. We, each of us, sat on either of the beds in that small room, facing each other. I remember telling her of the Rakshana, of my family, but what I remember most was her loveliness and the way her robe, buttoned askew, revealed part of her collarbone just so. I believe she did not yet know how to regard me, if I was someone she could trust or just another person trying to take her power. In truth, I was the former, but I did not know how to show her that. So I took a defensive stance and we ended the night with a polite farewell and my assurances that I would be close by when she got to London.

She left for her grandmother's house in town the next day. I knew I had to stay close to her, as the Rakshana wanted, but I did not know how I could manage it in such a city as London. There were no woods to hide me, no gypsy camps allowed near the elegant houses and parks that belonged to the London gentry. And I did not know how she would receive me there, amongst all the reminders of how different our stations in life were.

When I was informed by higher powers that I was to be Gemma's father's new coachman, I was delighted. The prospect of being so near her, of living on her family's estate, was thrilling. I held out the vain hope that she would be just as delighted to see me. That first day, I waited patiently at the carriage house, dressed elegantly in my new uniform, my hair secured under a cap. I had never before taken such care with my appearance, but this was London, after all, and I was about to see Gemma for the first time after days of absence.

She came abruptly that evening, bathed in the glow of twilight as she stood imperiously in the doorway. I could scarcely breathe for the sight of her. Sometimes she was not always aware of the effect she had on people. I grinned at her, unable to contain myself, so happy was I to see her. Less than a week's absence had felt like months to me. At this point, I knew myself to be deeply in love with her, but now was not the time for heartfelt confessions. Too much still had to be done. We discussed the realms and Circe briefly, and then she turned to go, taking a part of me with her.

Being so near her yet unable to speak to her freely was maddening. I saw glimpses of the life she was born to, when she attended this party or that dinner. I remember what a goddess she was the night of the opera, in her white gown with the flowers in her hair, and how she took my breath away. But it was the dinner at "Muddleton's" house that sticks in my mind.

I knew he'd formed designs on her the moment I saw them together, but I needed proof before I was going to speak to her about it. So I did something that I would have regretted had I not been absolutely convinced I was acting in her best interests. She was an impressionable young lady, after all, and I wasn't going to see my Gemma—for I had begun to think of her, or rather wish for her, as mine—taken in by the first slick-tongued fop that came her way. I watched them closely as they stood in the library of the Muddleton house, and what I saw made my blood boil. She allowed him to touch her hair! That golden red hair that belonged to my angel, in the hands of a pasty-faced fool who scarcely deserved to tread the same ground as she! And at every instant, when her face was turned away, he regarded her as a wolf regards a flock of sheep. I wanted to rush through the window and take her away right then and there, or perhaps enter the room and challenge the impertinent boy to a duel. But I did not. I contented myself with throwing rocks, hard, at the window until the two of them broke apart.

"A pleasant evening, Miss Doyle?" I asked as she emerged from the house with her family. My voice was icy, but she seemed too giddy to notice, and this annoyed me even more.

"Yes, _very _pleasant," she replied happily. I could not help muttering, "So I noted," in response, and her quizzical look as she stepped into the carriage showed me that she could not help but take my meaning. Pulling away from the curb angrily, I resolved to warn her about her deceptive Mr. Muddleton as soon as possible.

That opportunity came in the middle of the night, when the moon was full and the carriage house was silent save for my own voice reading lines from Homer. I was teaching the housemaid Emily to read, as this was the only possible opportunity for both of us. Gemma stormed into the carriage house in a way that made her look like a queen, and even though she was angry, my heart leapt at the sight of her. Emily ran for the house as Gemma demanded to know what I meant by my comment, and in my embarrassment I revealed that I had been watching her and Muddleton through the window. She seemed upset by this, but I won her over eventually and we discussed a patient at Bedlam whom she thought would be able to help her find the Temple. I warned her about Muddleton as well, that he regarded her as a piece of ripe fruit and she'd best be on her guard with him. She seemed pleased by this, which added to my already bitter mood. I suppose I could've done more to conceal my jealousy, but the charade was beginning to tire me and I longed to be able to tell her how I felt. But not right then. No, not yet. I found her especially irresistible that night, even when she turned on her heel to go and ran smack into the carriage house wall. Darling, adorable Gemma, I thought, as I bent to offer her a hand.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

DISCLAIMER: All fictional characters and place names are Libba Bray's. No money is being made from the publication of this story.

The next morning, I took her in the carriage to Bethlem Royal Hospital to visit a girl named Nell Hawkins. Gemma thought she might help us find the Temple, and I was glad to be going with her. I was beginning to be frightened for her and apprehensive about the seemingly impossible task before us. I knew that if anyone could accomplish it, Gemma could. But still I feared for her safety and what might happen to her on our quest.

It was scarcely an hour's wait outside the doors of Bethlem before Gemma came running to me, out of breath and looking frightened. "Gemma? What is the matter?" I asked her. She could barely answer me, so complete was her distress. She begged me to take her somewhere we might speak in private. Only one place came to mind, and I was not entirely happy to take her there. But there was no other choice and so we went.

Thinking back on it, there were many times in the past when Gemma and I were in the gravest of situations and yet we still found reason to laugh together. This was one of those times. Though we puzzled over what she had learned from Nell, I distinctly remember the feeling that we enjoyed each other's company in that small rundown bar. I gave her dosa, which she ate delightedly, the smile on her face reflecting my own happiness. And we had a moment when she swore inadvertently, making my mouth drop open before I erupted into laughter. I loved her even more then, thinking that this amazing woman would never cease to surprise me. I told her she could find me in the bar's hidden room if she ever needed to, a secret I had never shared with anyone but that I felt she would guard with her life. And I wanted her to need me. I wanted to be there for her in any capacity for as long as she would have it.

Christmas Eve in London. I would've liked to be at the Doyle house, staring up at the light in Gemma's window, perhaps meeting her in secret at my insistence under the pretense of discussing the realms, but really because I wanted nothing more than to gaze at her beauty and enjoy her company on that night, the most magical night of the year…

But I digress. It was Christmas Eve in London, and I sat in the freezing cold of winter, in a hidden alley with a horse named Ginger and a coach that was far too fine for the dregs of the world, Bluegate Fields. Mr. Doyle had been at Chin's opium den for nearly twenty-four hours. My suspicions of his addiction had turned into alarm the previous night when he bade me drive him there. And, after a whole night and day in that most deplorable of places, I had been warring with myself whether to bring this horrid news to his family and risk bringing more pain upon my dearest Gemma, or wait. Finally, I resolved to find Gemma's brother and ask for his help. It was late, past 11 o'clock. I hoped Gemma would be safely in bed, that she would never know what poison her father had turned to. I hoped.

Half an hour later and I was slipping through the Doyles' front door, still in my coat and boots. I had not yet made up my mind on how I was going to rouse Thomas without waking up the entire household along with him. But it seemed a moot point when I entered the parlor to find Gemma sitting alone, staring into the flames of an already dying fire.

I would have given anything then to save her from knowing the truth. But she pressed me, and I could deny her nothing. I found myself telling her everything I knew about her father, even agreeing to take her to him, though it scared me more than I could ever admit. My Gemma, in such a place! I still cannot forgive myself for bringing her there, but when I think of the desperate look in her eyes, mixed with the courageous resolve that I had always admired in her…I was utterly lost. I brought her in the carriage. I led her to Chin's.

We have gone on many adventures together since then, but that night in Bluegate is one of the saddest errands Gemma and I have ever been on. Throughout everything, Gemma showed the strength of character and unfailing bravery that I have so long admired in her, the woman I love. She did not allow herself a chance to grieve until her father was safe, and only then did she take a moment to let out the sadness that was in her heart.

I could no longer feign indifference to her or adopt the façade of one bound by duty alone. When I saw her break into sobs, I was not Kartik of the Rakshana but her friend, someone who cared for her…who loved her. I wiped away her tears, which she seemed surprised by but accepted gratefully. I murmured words of comfort to her. And when it was over, I took her home.

Christmas morning saw me rise early, almost with the dawn. The larks were only just beginning to break into song when I slipped into a shirt and trousers, rubbing sleep from my eyes. I had barely collected myself when I saw her approaching the carriage house with a sweet look on her face. After the events of the previous night, I had been worried that she would not want to see me, for I knew she was ashamed of what I'd witnessed. But there she was, and it was all I could do not to confess my love to her then and there. And there was something else I had to tell her. I had been hiding the fact of what the Rakshana had asked me to do for many months. But I wanted there to be no secrets between us. I loved her, and I would not do as they asked. I would not harm her. She needed to know that.

She thanked me for what I'd done for her father. I gave her a present that I'd been keeping for her, a small knife that had belonged to my brother. I do not know what made me part with it, only that it was meant to give protection and I wanted more than anything to protect her. We talked a little, saying nothing really. I was in a playful mood. I asked her how dancing was done at a ball, such as the one that was to be held at Miss Worthington's that night, and we playacted some of the ridiculous characters one might find in London society. And then the conversation took a turn. My feelings were so strong then, but I did not know how to even begin to express myself. So I asked her to dance. She seemed shocked, but it was as if another force was willing her toward me and into my arms. I held her then and for the first time, I felt that I was where I belonged. She was distant, almost embarrassed, but I could not let her go so easily. I held her closer. My hand found the small of her back. And suddenly I knew…I knew that I had to tell her then or not at all.

"Gemma…" Breathing her name was like a sigh of relief. Her beautiful green eyes met mine. It seemed as if a spell was cast over us. And all of a sudden, it ended. She broke from my grasp, clutching her stomach. I asked her if she was alright and she blamed the cold for her sudden change. I tried to tell her again but she silenced me. I was hurt, but tried not to show it as I handed her the knife. Our fingers touched. Something in me stirred, and before I knew what I was doing, I held her in my arms again and I was kissing her, wanting her as I'd never wanted anything or anyone before in my life, wanting nothing but to keep kissing her for the rest of my days, and I was happy.

I do not like to think of what happened next. Words were exchanged that I believe I will regret forever. I left her then, angry, hurt, needing to get as far away from her power as possible, not the power of the realms but the power she had had over me almost since the day we met. It was the love I felt for her and the painful realization that she would never, could never feel the same. And I hated myself for it. So I left.


End file.
